


New Paths

by oooknuk



Series: New Paths [1]
Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 22:23:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10750995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oooknuk/pseuds/oooknuk
Summary: What if Ray Vecchio never went undercover?





	New Paths

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters you recognise will belong to Alliance. No infringement of copyright intended. Not for profit. 
> 
> Warnings: language, violence, AU 
> 
> Note: This is pre-slash, and the first of a three story series. It is an AU which supposes that Ray Vecchio never went undercover, but sticks as close to canon as possible, except where this fact makes a difference to the story line. My thanks to Sasha for betaing this series, as always, with love and great care.

"Hey, Mick, you hear about that guy at the 2-7, got himself deceased last night? You know him, don't you?"

My partner lowered his fat butt onto the edge of my desk, sipping from his coffee cup. "Louis Gardino? Sure - he was at the Academy with me. He was a prick, not to speak ill of the dead or nothing. They got a lead on who did it yet?"

I drank some of my own coffee before answering and wished to God I'd remembered to get some more Smarties to hide the taste. "I heard the bomb was in another detective's car and they're fingering Frank Zuko."

"Zuko? Shit, he's killing cops now?"

"So they say. What's the plan for today?"

"You're looking at it, sweetcheeks. If we don't clear our paperwork _today,_ Franklin's putting us on school crossing patrol."

Fuck it. When your partner hates paperwork too, things tend to back up a little. A lot. Mick pulled up a chair and we spent the day hunting and pecking at the computer.

 

* * *

I picked up the newspaper and my mail the Monday after weekend duty. A week after the car bombing, Louis Gardino's murder was still news, but downgraded from the front page - arrests had been made but no names announced yet. Zuko had been arrested but released. I figured I'd get the good oil when I saw Mick next but today being my day off, I had a lot of not thinking about cop work planned. I flicked through the envelopes - damn, I thought I'd paid that gas bill ... seeing the return address of Stella's lawyers, my stomach did a flip flop. I waited until I was back in the apartment until I opened it. Just as I thought - the final papers. I'd lost count of the weeks - and had completely forgotten when the date for the final decree was coming up. Denial isn't just a river in Egypt. I'd been living there for months.

I stared at the papers for an hour, maybe two. They still didn't look any better, still didn't stop meaning that thirteen years of my marriage to a woman I'd loved forever, was gone. Finito. Down the fucking john. It was just a formality - me and Stella were a bust a year ago. Hell, I'd moved to this crappy apartment three months ago, she had her own place - what did I think? That this was temporary?

This, this was nothing, signing the papers but, somehow, I just couldn't make my fingers work. Every time I reached for the pen, my chest got tight, and the hair on the back of my head prickled. "Fuck it," I said finally, and jammed the mess into my jacket pocket. Wrapping a scarf around my neck, I slammed the door and went for a walk.

Bad idea. The weather sucked. Snowy, freezing, enough breeze to make it really horrible to be out in. Being frozen distracted me a little from the pain in my head. I pulled the papers out again. Maybe if I looked long enough, maybe the words that killed me, destroyed the best part of my adult life - the _best_ part of my life - would blow away in the damp wind. Someone up there must have heard me, because just then, the papers were suddenly knocked from my hand and sent flying. I couldn't get up to pick them up, as I was being buried under a white, furry, slobbery mass. I was too surprised to complain, but I did manage to push the whatever it was off me. It didn't seem to mind, and kept right on licking any skin it could reach.

"Diefenbaker! I'm terribly sorry. Dief!" I turned and look to the source of the voice. Cop brain registered age - about my own. Dark-haired, pale skinned Caucasian, medium build, blue eyes. Lizard brain said - _Fuck._ Wow. Way good looking. He pulled his dog back with one hand and held out the dropped paperwork with the other. "I'm sorry," he said again. "He made you lose these."

"Wish he had," I joked. "Does he do that a lot?" The 'he' was now looking at me with soft brown eyes and a goofy grin. Now if I could just get a chick - or a guy - to look at me like that occasionally....

"No, actually, he doesn't. And he won't again, will you, Diefenbaker?"

"Nice dog."

"He's a wolf. Half-wolf."

"No kidding." I looked at the furface again. Nearly as good looking as his owner.

"No, I assure you, he really is."

"So what's a wolf and a Canadian doing here?"

His eyes glazed slightly and I figured he gave this speech a lot. "I first came to Chicago on the trail of my father's killers ...."

"Whoa! Your father's what?"

"Killers. He was murdered. In Canada."

"And you tracked 'em here - did you catch them?"

"Yes." Pain now, eyes still open and honest looking, but he wasn't smiling.

"They go down?"

"Yes. You sound as if you're a law enforcement officer."

"So do you. Detective Ray Kowalski, Chicago PD."

He held out a hand, callused and with dirty nails I noticed. The only untidy thing about him. "Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP."

"You on holiday now? I mean, if you got your dad's killers, you can go home, right?"

"Not exactly. I work as a liaison with the Chicago Consulate."

"Liaison - with who?"

"Well, amongst other people, the Chicago police. I act as unofficial partner to a detective at the 27th precinct, in fact."

The 2-7. "You knew Louis Gardino?"

Now those eyes narrowed and he cocked his head. "Of course you heard about that. I was there when he died. It was actually my partner, Ray Vecchio, who was the apparent target of the car bomb."

Holy shit. "That's rough."

"Yes. We buried Detective Gardino yesterday." That explained why he looked like crap.

"Look, Fraser - it's freezing. How about I buy you a cup of coffee and you tell me about it." I must be out of my mind, but to tell the truth, this was a lot more interesting than sitting in a run down park trying to get the courage to sign my life into the trash. He agreed. His wolf sure looked happy - never seen an animal get a jones for me the way he did. Weird. Wondered if wolves were smarter than ordinary dogs. Or if they just had worse taste.

He suggested a diner I'd passed often enough but never been in. He said he ate there a lot, and I had a picture of him, sitting there on his own, eating his lonely meals with just the dog ... the wolf for company. Ought to be a law against it. The coffee was only a little better than the station's, but it sure was warmer inside than out. "Were you thinking about your divorce?" he asked as we got comfortable, and I suddenly thought there was a reason for him being on his own, the nosy bastard. He must have read my mind. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help but notice when I picked the papers up."

I relaxed. "Just got them this morning. I'm supposed to sign them and send them back and then it's over. Pffft. It's hard, you know? When you love someone so much, and they don't love you the same way."

His eyes seemed to look inside himself for a second. "Are you going to sign them?"

I sighed. "I guess so. If I do, it'll hurt like hell. If I don't, that'll hurt Stella - that's my wife - and I can't hurt her."

"You'd rather be hurt than hurt her?" His voice was low, and surprisingly deep as he said that.

"Got it in one." I sipped from my coffee cup. Yuck. "Tell me about Vecchio and Gardino." Subject closed. He took the hint.

The case was murky and my new pal had made it even more confusing. "You got Zuko released? Wow - that must've gone down well."

"Not particularly." He wasn't quite meeting my eyes.

"Your partner was pissed?"

"I think that's an accurate assessment. There is considerable history between Ray and Mr. Zuko. The death of Irene Zuko was very painful to him."

His voice got slightly clipped, and I could see what had happened. The whole Romeo and Juliet thing, and Vecchio sees a chance to take Zuko down, only his Dudley Do-Right partner gets in the way. "When did she die?"

"This morning. We were at the hospital all night waiting for her to come out of surgery."

Jesus. No wonder the guy looked bad. Spit on, shut out and now just damn worn out. "You had any sleep?"

"A power nap or two."

How did a straight arrow like this end up in such shit? Dad murdered, his best friend turned on him. His police friends - boy, could I imagine what they thought of him. "They'll get over it," I lied, trying to make him feel better.

It didn't work - he was no fool. "You mean like the RCMP did?" I didn't get it. "The man who killed my father was another Mountie - not just a murderer but corrupt as well. Bringing in one of my own ... it wasn't thought kindly of."

Spit on and exiled. For two cents I'd have hugged the guy. But he wasn't wallowing in self-pity, uh, not like I was. He just told me the facts like they'd happened to a stranger. They hadn't - they'd happened to him. And that bothered me a lot more than it should. I really liked him. Chances were I'd never see him again. Or maybe not. It turned out he lived in West Racine, about a half mile away, and this was his wolf walking patch. Not always, but if I wanted to run into him....

We finished our coffee and I put out my hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Fraser. You too, furface."

"Thank you kindly, Detective Kowalski."

"Ray."

"Ray." He smiled. It was like a fire on a cold day, sun after rain. Damn.

He walked out. I stayed and ordered another cup of lousy coffee, pulled out my pen and signed the fucking papers. You just had to keep going through the pain - if Fraser could handle all the stuff that'd happened to him, I could handle my divorce. Time to get my life back.

 

* * *

I ran into him once, twice a week after that. Dief would always find me if I was in the park, and a couple of times I found Fraser at the diner and we had a meal together. He could talk the loose hind leg off a donkey, that guy, and he didn't even seem to mind if you were listening or not. If I was having a lousy day, I'd just let the sound wash over me, like having a brain massage. We got to know each other well enough that I could tease him about little things - the way he talked, the way he didn't seem to know lick of slang even after two years in the city. He got familiar enough that he could tell me off for feeding donuts to the wolf - and that I could feed the wolf anyway. A couple of times I almost invited him back to my place for a meal, maybe a beer, but then it came out that he didn't drink so I gave up - he'd probably think I was a slob. He was so fucking... so fucking _pure._ Wholesome. He really believed in being a cop, making things safe for good people - it was so simple for him. Hell, I couldn't even remember why I wanted to be a cop except for Marcus Ellery and damned if that was a good enough reason to stick the bad hours and bad pay for fourteen years. I learned a whole lot about him, his mum dying when he was little, his dad being killed. His scary grandparents. How Chicago was only bearable because this Vecchio guy took him under his wing more or less immediately. He was homesick pretty much all the time, but he'd learned to live with it.

I wouldn't see him for a week or so, then he'd pop up, telling me about some weird case he and Vecchio had been working. I bet his partner used to get real nostalgic for the quiet life B.F. - Before Fraser. The Mountie had me in fits telling me about having to spend all night going to strip clubs, and I nearly had an accident when he said he'd let a rat go free - in Chicago. The man was seriously twisted, but in a good way. When he stopped the nuclear train, he hit the news big time - I had some fun ragging him about that. But then when that asshole, Bolt, came before the grand jury and took the judge and jury hostage, he ended up tied to a bomb and his partner on national television. Mick and me and pretty much every damn cop in the city saw that going down. I swear, if Fraser had walked into the bullpen right then, I'd have kissed him with relief. He was his usual calm self when I saw him next, joking about how much fun he'd had and how they'd deduced which wire to cut. All I could think about was him being splat across American TV and how much that would really, really suck. In every possible way.

Fraser, work, the boxing - that was all I had really. The divorce came through and it hurt but not as bad as it could've done - more like a healed over scar, not like a bullet in the chest. I got out of my apartment every chance I could, because I missed the house I had with Stella, missed being in the house with Stella. Every time I walked into the dark, crowded place that was my home now, I knew life would never be good again. The only brightness was Fraser. I figured if he found out how much I looked forward to seeing him, how many times we didn't meet by 'accident', he'd run, and then my life would be empty. Again.

Spring came and for once it was warm early. Fraser was around in the park a lot more now there was more daylight. We met up one Sunday and he told me that he'd been looking for me which made me feel all cosy inside. But he had bad news - he was going on a three week vacation back to the freezer. I had this stupid idea he might ask me to look after Dief, but the wolf was going where he was. No, Fraser just wanted me to know he wouldn't be around. He cared enough to tell me he wasn't going to be around. That almost made up for him being away.

It was six weeks, not three, before I saw him again on my day off. I was mooching around - not looking for him, I'd almost stopped thinking that I would see him - I figured he'd moved, or got bored, maybe transferred back to Canada. But no, there he was and there was Dief looking for licks and pastry. Fraser looked worse than the first day I met him - he'd lost a little weight, and he was pale. He smiled when he saw me. "Long time no see, Fraser."

"Yes, I'm sorry. I would have called but ...."

"Hey, no problem. So what happened - vacation go into extra time?"

"Not exactly." Dief yanked his arm just then and he went white, his face screwed up. He was in some serious pain there.

"Christ, sit down, will you?" I helped him to the bench. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

He grinned but there wasn't a lot of humor in it. "It's a long story, takes exactly an hour to tell. I only got out of the hospital yesterday."

Hospital? The Mountie was hurt and I didn't know? "Fraser, uh - oh, jeez. Would you like have lunch with me? I mean, to tell me about it." He looked pleased, and I was grateful I finally found the nerve to ask.

We walked to my place. He was right - it was a long story. A performance arsonist - called Greta Garbo, for God's sake - had burned down his home, nearly burned down the consulate, him, Vecchio, and then had shot him after they'd ditched Vecchio's burning car in Lake Michigan. "Ray tried to push me out of the bullet's path but she shot me anyway - Dief managed to knock her down and Ray immobilized her."

"How bad ... where did you get shot?"

"Just under the collar bone. Caught the top of my lung unfortunately. I'm fine now."

Uh huh. "I can see that, yeah you look just peachy. So you've been shot, you got no home - can I help? Do you need a place to stay?"

"Thank you, but no. Ray's mother already offered but, ah, their home is a little noisy." For some reason he blushed. "Inspector Thatcher is letting me stay at the Consulate."

"They got bedrooms?"

"They have the one, yes, but I'll be sleeping in my office."

I shook my head. "No way, José. You're staying with me until you heal up. Fraser - you've been shot."

"Ray - you hardly know me."

"I know you, you know I'm a cop. You can check me out if you like. We're friends, aren't we? Pals?"

"Yes, I like to think so ...."

"So, you need a place while you're not well. I got a spare room."

"I'll pay rent."

"Whatever. Deal?"

He smiled. Boy, he had a nice smile. "Deal."

"Greatness! OK, finish your pizza and we'll go get your stuff."

As I helped Fraser pack up his pitiful collection of belongings, I wondered if I had lost my mind, inviting a stranger into my home. But who the hell was I kidding? I needed this more than Fraser did. I was so sick of being alone, and Fraser was the only person I ever talked to outside work for fun these days.

We put his duffel bag into the second bedroom, hung up his uniform, and I told him he was home. He smiled properly for the first time that day, and I got some idea of how hard the past few weeks had been. Dief was in heaven. We worked out a deal on the rent and the utilities - I charged less than half rent (not that he knew that) because the second room was just a storage room really, no windows, and I figured it wasn't fair otherwise. He said it was less than he paid for his rat trap on West Racine.

And that was how Fraser and Dief came to live with me. Simple as that. I got the feeling that his partner was just the tiniest bit pissed that Fraser had moved in with me and not in with him, but from a couple of hints Fraser dropped here and there, I gathered that Vecchio's sister was a piranha. Fraser was shy around women, which was ironic since he was a babe magnet - hell, you walked in the park with the Mountie and it was like being invisible. Women followed him around, fell out of trees, it was embarrassing.

Life was different after that - for both of us. Fraser was used to going to bed practically at noon. I told him I didn't appreciate being woken up at five am for anything less than the place being on fire - after that he was a lot quieter about shutting the door and stuff when he took Dief out for runs. He discovered the joy of CD players - the guy was over thirty and had never owned a stereo of any kind, go figure. I learned to wood carve - hell, the guy spent so much time whittling, we could've run a fire place with the chips. He couldn't cook much - I could, and it was kind of nice having someone around who liked it. My apartment had never been so fucking clean and tidy, and everything that didn't work in my place and on the whole floor got fixed PDQ. He had some weird habits - ironing his underwear, talking to himself. It was like living with a circus sometimes, the things he did.

It worked out, in a funny way. It took a little bit of me yelling at him and walking off steam for a couple of weeks but we settled down after that. I liked having him around - okay, maybe I'd have liked having anyone around just then, but he was good company. Dief loved me - it was mutual - and we'd would gang up on Fraser and make him have fun sometimes. He still hung with Vecchio, and that side of his life I wanted nothing to do with - I was a cop, I left that behind as much as I could. Fraser and me were buddies, not partners, and that's the way I liked it. Besides, I could live without competing with Vecchio for Frasertime.

There was one thing I couldn't tell him about. Stella. Oh, he got the sad, sad story of the Kowalski marriage, how Stella and me got together because of a mistake over pissing my pants, how we were made for each other but couldn't live together no more, yadda yadda. But he didn't know how I spent my free time when he was off playing with Vecchio. You see, Stella was going out steady for the first time since the divorce. Something told me the guy was a jerk, and it wasn't just because I was as jealous as hell. I ran some checks on Frank Orsini - he looked OK on paper but he was bad, I knew it. I could practically smell it. It kept me awake worrying about it.

Which is how I got to be torn a new one by my lieutenant. I was just keeping an eye on Stella and this creep Orsini down by the lakefront when someone took a shot at them. Naturally I jumped in to save Stella - naturally she accused me of following her (which I was) and harassing her (which I wasn't). That earned me a two day suspension and a big kick in the ass from my boss (since it was during working hours), and a threat of a restraining order from the Stella. Fraser worked out I was suspended - I had practically no secrets from that guy - and so I told him all about it. He didn't really understand, which drove me slightly crazy. I mean - there's innocent, and then there's just fucking naive.

"Fraser, you have no idea what it's like when you love someone and you need to protect them no matter what."

I think that pissed him off a little - he gave me a look that might have been pissed off, or it might have been gas - but he offered to buy Chinese for dinner and that was the end of that.

I did like Stella wanted and kept away. I wasn't afraid of a law suit, but the look of ... disappointment ... in her eyes - that, I couldn't stand.

Two nights later, I was still awake at two a.m when some jerk started pounding on my door. I pulled on some shorts and my robe, got my gun and called out "Who is it?" through the door.

"Police. Open up." I kept my hand on Dief's head - Fraser would be up any second. I opened the door to find a skinny Italian there with two uniforms. "Stanley Kowalski? Detective Vecchio. I'd like to talk to you about the deaths of Stella Kowalski and Alderman Frank Orsini."

Deaths? Wow - did all the oxygen leave the room just then, or was it just me finding it hard to breathe. I felt Fraser beside me. "Ray - what's this about?" he asked.

"Someone just blew the Assistant States Attorney and the Alderman into a million pieces on a boat," Vecchio told him. Fraser put his hand on my shoulder. Things got a little muddled after that. I guess someone took my gun - I wasn't holding it any more, and someone must have got me to the sofa, because that was where I was sitting, and someone else must have made tea with sugar because I don't drink the stuff. "Stell? Dead?" I said to no one in particular.

I heard Fraser say to his partner quietly, "Ray - he's in shock, do you have to do this now?"

"Keep out of it, Fraser." This Vecchio was a real hard ass. "There was a complaint about harassment made by Ms Kowalski against her ex, we're just covering all the angles."

I let them argue while I sipped the tea slowly and shook. Dead? No. Couldn't be. Someone - Fraser - took my cup before I dropped it. "Dead?" It was the only thing I seemed to be able to say. I heard Fraser arguing some more with the cops, and the door closing. I looked up at him.

"They want you to come into the precinct tomorrow - well, today, later."

"Fraser?" My voice was shaking hard. So was I.

He sat next to me and put his arm across my shoulder and his hand over mine. "I'm sorry, Ray," he said quietly.

"She's dead, Fraser."

"Yes, she is. I'm sorry you had to learn about it like that."

"S'all right," I whispered. I think that's when I started to cry. Not sure. All I know is that if Fraser hadn't had a hold of me, I'd have done something dumb, maybe. Because he was there, I just sat and tried to get my head around what happened.

He talked me into going back to bed around 3.30. Dief slept up on my bed like he did sometimes when Fraser wasn't looking. When I woke up, him being there meant it wasn't a dream. So did Fraser making me coffee and not being off to work. I looked at him and he knew what I was asking. "I took the liberty of requesting the rest of the week off as leave - I thought you may appreciate my presence."

I nodded - that was an understatement, 'appreciate'. "Where's the newspaper?"

"Ray ..."

"Where's the fucking newspaper?" I shouted and he pulled it out of a drawer where he'd hidden it. Front page news of course. The death of a public attorney and a city alderman was going to be news anyway, but being blown up.... I felt tears coming back but I brushed them away. That wasn't going to catch the creep who'd killed my wife. "We have to find who did this, Fraser." It was the first time I'd asked him to work on a cop thing with me but he just nodded.

"You have to go downtown this morning," he reminded me.

Fuck. Now I remembered the rest of it - Vecchio, the bastard, wanting to ask me some questions. Making out like he'd never heard of me, even with Fraser standing right there. "They think I did it."

"They just want to talk to you. You _were_ following Stella, Ray."

"To protect her, not to hurt her!"

"I believe you," he said soothingly. "This is routine, you know that."

I wasn't so sure - Vecchio had a bug up his ass about me, I could see that. Why? Because of Fraser? I asked him.

"He has on occasion evinced some resentment towards you, but I wouldn't say 'hate', Ray. He's just doing his job."

"You think what he did last night was okay?" That wasn't fair, I knew that. The guy was just doing his job, and asking his partner to diss him was crappy. "Forget it, Fraser. I just want to get this over with, then I got some people to call."

Vecchio in the daytime was as lousy a sight as he was in the middle of the night. "What are you doing here, Fraser?" Mr. Manners he wasn't.

"You know perfectly well, Ray." They looked at each other and I felt like an old shoe two dogs were fighting over.

"Can we get this over with, Vecchio?" I snarled at him.

"Why's that, Kowalski? In a hurry to check out your ex's will?"

I went to punch him but Fraser grabbed my arm. "That remark was uncalled for, Ray."

Vecchio gave the Mountie the evil eye. "Fraser, you'll have to stay out. Kowalski, interview room."

Vecchio was just about the nastiest thing I've ever encountered and I had no idea why, or how a good decent man like my roomie could stand him. He went over the murder in detail. Did I resent Stella dating Orsini? Did I hate her for divorcing me? I was good with mechanical things - could I make a bomb? Yes, no, maybe. Did I know Stella was insured for half a million dollars and that I, Stanley Raymond Kowalski was the beneficiary?

"No - that can't be," I whispered, shocked to my boots. "We're divorced. It was a husband and wife thing."

"The policy names you. The divorce made no difference."

"But the premiums - who ... how did they get paid?"

"It seems Ms Kowalski kept them up, don't ask me why, maybe she just forgot. Hell of a motive for murder, don't you think?"

"I didn't kill my wife, Vecchio. I loved her."

"She was your _ex-_ wife, Detective Kowalski, and people kill the ones they love all the time. You got an alibi for yesterday between noon and four p.m.?"

"I was at home."

"Anyone see you?"

"No."

"Why were you at home?"

"I was on suspension," I mumbled and he gave me a knowing smile. He already knew that, the bastard.

"So, no hobbies? You didn't go out to enjoy the air? Didn't arrange for a bomb to be delivered to the _Oriole_ restaurant?"

"No! Why the hell are you wasting time with me, Vecchio? You should be out trying to find the guy who did this!"

He sneered. "Don't tell me how to do my job, Kowalski. I've seen your type before."

"And what type is that, Vecchio?" I was trying not to lose my temper completely - I wondered if Fraser was watching behind the one way mirror.

"Oh come on, Stanley - you know. Sad pathetic failures, can't accept when a woman doesn't love them any more. You didn't want to let her go, so you killed her."

I knew what he was doing, and damned if I was going to rise to the bait. Did he think I was stupid or something? "No, I didn't," I gritted out. "Look, I haven't got any more to say about this, so unless you've got something else to ask, I'm walking. You got a problem with that, Vecchio?"

He gave me another sneer. "You can go. We know where you live. Oh, by the way - we want to search your apartment - you got a problem with that, or do I need a warrant?"

"Knock yourself out, Vecchio. Fraser's got a key." I stood up.

"Perhaps you'd better be there too. We can go now, right?"

I walked out the door without answering. Fraser was there so I knew he must have heard. "They want to search our place."

Vecchio was right behind me. "Fraser, you stay here."

I turned to Vecchio. "No way. It's his home too - you want to snoop, go right ahead, but we're both going to be there."

"Ray ...," Fraser started to say but stopped when I glared at him. "Understood."

We had to wait for an hour for Vecchio to get a forensic team together. While we waited I stopped being mad and started to think about the fact Stella was dead - it hit me like a punch to the guts every time I remembered it. "'Scuse me," I finally had to say to Fraser. I went to the men's room, locked myself in a stall, shoved my fist in my mouth and bawled my head off as quietly as I could. No way was I going to let Vecchio see me like this. I guess I hid in there for twenty minutes or so. I stopped crying but I didn't trust myself just yet. I heard the door open and close so I kept still but then I heard Fraser ask quietly, "Ray? Are you all right?" I stayed quiet. "There's no one else here."

I pushed open the door of the stall and came out. I didn't say anything to him, just went over the washbasin and ran the cold water so I could wash my face. He handed me some paper towels and looked at me in the mirror, those blue eyes full of sympathy. It was killing me. "I'm sorry, Ray. I don't know why he's being so hard on you, but you shouldn't take it personally."

"I'm not, Fraser. It's just ... just... you know, Stella." Damn, thought I was done with those tears. I splashed more water on my face. "I haven't even told my mom yet."

"Why don't you call her while we wait?"

"In front of that ...?" 'Jerk', I was going to say, but remembered that Vecchio was Fraser's partner. "No, later. After they go through the apartment. Fraser - you know I didn't do it, right?"

"You don't have to tell me, Ray. It never entered my mind that you could have done."

That made me feel the best I did all day, and gave me enough courage to go back out into the Violent Crimes bullpen and wait for Vecchio's team. Not long after we were back home, watching the place being torn apart. "You got a lot of surveillance equipment here, Kowalski," Vecchio said.

"I'm a cop, Vecchio. That's what I do." I couldn't figure this guy out at all but me and him were poison for sure.

They spent three hours turning the place over, and all they came up with was my tool kit which I said they were free to take as long as I got everything back. They left a mess which they offered to tidy up a little but I wanted them out. Vecchio looked pissed that they hadn't found more. "Don't leave town, Kowalski."

I just looked at him and wished he'd drop dead - it wasn't worth snapping back at him. Fraser let him out. I sat on the sofa and wondered what to do next. I had to call my mom - she and Stella were close - and I guessed I should call my boss and Mick and let them know what was going down. God - Stella's parents. I should go see them. Fraser came over and sat opposite me. "Are you all right, Ray?"

"Your partner's pissed."

"He's just doing his job. He's a fine police officer."

"He better get the guy who did this or I'll have his ass. Will you help me?"

"I can't interfere in Ray's investigation, you know that ...."

"Yeah, but I know people, stuff - about Stella. You and me ... oh, forget it, you don't want to get into trouble with him."

I started to stand up but to my surprise he put his hand on my arm. "Ray, I'll help you all I can. But you have people to call - do you want to do that first?"

Shit - that nearly pushed me over again. I was surprised how warm he was being - no offense, but Fraser could be damn cold when he wanted to be, and sometimes I thought you'd have to be bleeding to death before he'd notice, but he was being a brick over this and I appreciated it. I said so. "Thanks, Fraser - look, I didn't mean that ... I know you gottta play by the rules."

"I like to think of them as guidelines, Ray. I'll let have you have some privacy - I'll start tidying up the kitchen."

I went into my bedroom which was covered in clothes and junk - so no change there - and closed the door. And then took some deep breaths before I called my Mom and told her. Well, she took it hard, and in the end, I just had to let her cry. You'd think Stella was her own, and sometimes I think Mom would have preferred it that way. She made me promise to tell her about the funeral which I hadn't even begun to think about and then I hung up. Had to wait a few minutes before I could call my boss - didn't want to start bawling down the phone to him. He was cool, told me to take a couple of days extra off, and reminded me that IA would be keeping an eye on things too, like I needed to know that. At least I hadn't been charged - Vecchio had no evidence and he knew it, and he couldn't run me in because he didn't like me. I had these two emotions running through my head the whole time - one second I felt like ice inside, remembering the beautiful girl I loved, the one I'd used to dance with and make love to and fight with was dead and blown to pieces, and the next, I was boiling mad, angry that anyone could do this to her, or think I could. It was a good thing I wasn't on duty - I probably would have shot someone for looking at me funny.

Fraser tapped at the door. "It's open."

He came in. "Sorry to interrupt, Ray - I though you might like some tea." Canadians and tea - worse than the British. He handed me a mug of something flowery and I looked at him. "Earl Grey," he said, like it mattered.

"Whatever. Tea's tea." He looked miffed, which was the idea, but I appreciated the thought. To tell the truth, my hands were shaking again. He could see that and sat on the end of the bed.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"I still gotta call Stella's parents. But I want to get moving, Fraser - look, we know someone tried to shoot Orsini because I was there when it happened. Do we know any more about the shooter? Can you ask Vecchio, or get the file or something? I checked up about Orsini, didn't find anything but the guy was crooked, I know it."

Fraser successfully distracted me with that for a while and we discussed who was the more likely target of the bomb - Stella or Orsini - and we figured both looked good for it. He went off to make some polite enquiries with Vecchio while I called Stella's mom and dad. They were always nice to me, not real warm, but they aren't that sort of people. I spoke to her father, her mom was too broken up, and he told me what they knew and when they were planning to have the funeral. They asked me to come, which was nice of them, considering, and I said I would. It wouldn't be for a week. I told them I wanted to catch Stella's murderer, which her dad was glad to hear. Talking to them wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, but I still felt like crap afterwards.

Fraser was still on the phone in the living room when I came out, a note pad on his knee. Dief whined at me but I told him he'd have to wait for his walk - I needed to hear what Vecchio had to say. Fraser hung up. "Alderman Orsini was the target of several death threats over the Manor Point development."

"That was what was behind the shooting I saw?"

"Possibly. Or perhaps Stella was the target."

"Who else is Vecchio looking at on that side?" Fraser gave me the look. "Okay, you can't tell me, but is he at least looking at her cases?"

"I assume so, Ray. Given his suspicions, perhaps we should look at the Orsini angle and let him handle the rest."

"But I know Stella ...."

"And that's the difficulty. Ray - please, trust me and trust Ray. He'll do a good job."

I had no choice but to go with what he said. This was all unofficial - it had to be while I was a suspect - but no fucking way was I going to sit on my hands while the person who killed my wife was walking around free. "Fraser - I want to talk to this Reece guy," tapping the name on his note pad. Reece was the head of the tenants group opposing the development. "And I want to get a case list from Stella's office."

"I'll do that - we need to be careful, Ray. For your sake."

"Have Forensics got the pieces of the bomb yet - do we know anything?"

He frowned. "They're working on that - I promise you, Ray, I'll check that out personally. Shall we call on Mr. Reece?"

Damon Reece was a feisty young guy and only Fraser kept our tempers from getting out of hand. Reece said that he'd been getting threats too, and that the tenants group was horrified at the attempt on Orsini's life, let alone his murder, because it set their cause back. Both Fraser and me got the impression that Reece was clean, and telling the truth. "What do we know about the Manor Point project?" I asked Fraser as we got back in the car.

"At the moment, nothing, but I think Ray is looking at it."

I was so frustrated. I didn't trust Vecchio - OK, I didn't _like_ Vecchio - and this was too big for him to take care of. "I'm going to Stella's office."

"That's really not a good idea."

I glared at him. "Did I ask you if it was?"

Stella's secretary was wary of me, but opened up a little for Fraser, and gave him, not me, the case list. She told me that Stella had received threats in the past, but that was SOP for public prosecutors. I got her to tell me about the most recent cases she'd been trying - a rich mix of perps which was going to take some investigating.

We decided we couldn't do much more today and headed on home. My cell phone went - it was my boss, Sam Franklin.

"Ray - I just got a report you were talking to people in your ex-wife's office."

"Just asking a few questions, Sam."

"Ray, for God's sake - you're a suspect in her murder. Lieutenant Welsh at the 2-7 is jumping all over me about this, and so will IA when he tells them. You have _got_ to stay out of this, do you hear me?"

"Sam, she was my _wife!_ "

"Do you hear me, detective, or do I need to get your gun and your badge off you?"

"Yes, sir. I hear you."

"Good. Now go home, and take it easy. This must be a tough time for you."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

I hung up and threw the phone in the back seat in a rage. "Fuck Vecchio - fuck Franklin. They're warning me off."

Fraser looked at me sympathetically. "They're just abiding by procedure, Ray."

"They're going to let the scum bag who did this go free!"

"You don't know that. But you're really not the best person to work on this now."

I ignored him as we walked up the stairs at our building. I was so mad I could've punched a hole in a brick wall. Fraser put his hand on my shoulder as I was about to open the door. "We _will_ find who did this. I promise you."

"Sure we will. Look - I don't feel like cooking. You want Chinese or pizza?"

I let Fraser order the Chinese, in Mandarin, like he usually did - he usually managed to come up with something good. I wasn't hungry, and Dief got my portion. I didn't want to be here any more, with Fraser's kind eyes watching every move I made, sitting on my butt while Stella's murderer walked around breathing fresh air. "I'm going for a walk."

Dief perked up. "Yeah, you can come." Fraser didn't ask if I wanted company.

I ended up in our park, as usual. Not sensible, considering the neighborhood, but I was packing and I had a loaded wolf as well. Dief ran around while I sat and thought. Remembering Stella as a young girl, taller, stronger and a year older than me, so brave with Marcus Ellery. Then as a gawky teenager, dancing together, learning how well we fit together. Then her going through law school, fighting with me over me dropping out. Breaking up for a couple of years. Me, becoming a cop, and proving myself to her and to me. Getting back together, getting married. Struggling on a public defender's income and a rookie cop's. Making love. Fighting. Her getting tired of cop hours, cop talk, cops - me. And then that final fight at Christmas, the one that made her leave, our hearts finally flayed too much to heal.

I knew Dief was back, waiting for me, but I wasn't not ready to go back. But then someone sat next to me. Fraser. "I thought I'd find you here," he said quietly. I just looked at him. "Ray - it's midnight - you've been gone hours. Aren't you cold?" I was shaking, maybe that was why. "Are you all right?"

"No." That's something I was sure about. I was not all right - never would be again. Fraser put his hand on my shoulder and that made things worse. I wrapped my arms around me. I was trembling too hard to speak.

"Ray, it'll be okay. Come home," he said gently, but I couldn't make myself move. Jesus. Stella.

"Do you think she felt anything, Fraser?"

He cocked his head, like he was listening for something, and then he answered. "No. I'm sure about that. I'm certain that it was instantaneous."

"I just wish ... I wish I could've seen her one more time. Danced with her, told her I loved her. The last time I saw her she was so mad at me. I can't handle thinking she died mad at me."

Fuck it. I pulled out my handkerchief and wiped my face. Fraser squeezed my shoulder. "Ray, I'm sure she didn't die angry with you. And I'm sure she cared about you deeply - why would she keep up the insurance premiums if she didn't?"

Who cared about the insurance? "Do you think she can hear me now? I mean, do you think she knows how I feel?"

He looked at me sadly. "Yes. I do. Trust me, I'm sure she knows. Come home, Ray."

I let him pull me up. "I just wish ... one more time. It hurts, Fraser," I said softly.

"I know. It gets better."

Dief slept on my bed again, and in the morning I felt a little calmer. I made Fraser go into the 2-7 - I told him the best thing he could do for me was to help Vecchio solve the case. He said he would make enquiries about the bomb itself. Once he'd gone, I called Mick and told him what was happening, and how Franklin had put a gag on me. Mick was cool about it - he hadn't got much more respect for the system than I did, and he knew I was no murderer. I asked him if he could find out about some of the people on Stella's case list. I waited for him to call me back, but when the phone rang, it was Stella's dad. He was a lot less friendly this time - they just got through seeing her lawyer and he told them all about her will and the insurance. I didn't know what had been going through Stella's head, but she had changed her will after the divorce, still leaving me as the beneficiary. Maybe she figured that her family didn't need her money, but all her dad could think was that it gave me a damn good motive for murder. I tried to tell him I knew nothing about it, but I could tell he didn't believe me.

Stella had tried to do something nice for me - maybe she worried about me, I don't know - and all she'd done was make me a suspect. "Stella, honey, if you're listening, I appreciate the thought but ...." I could imagine her grinning at me, and I felt a little better for that. If Fraser was right, she knew what I was thinking. That was kind of cool but I didn't really believe him.

Mick called back. We went through what he'd found and like me, the name that leapt out at him was Dwayne Weston, who Stella was prosecuting for beating and stalking his wife. "You got an address for the wife?" He did, and I arranged to meet him there.

I swear, Diane Weston was as upset as I was over Stella. Stella had been working on her for weeks to get her to testify against her bad ass husband, and just when she did, and the charges were going through, Stella died. "Are you going to still give evidence?" I asked.

"Oh, yes," she said. "I owe it to her." I admired her for that.

Her husband worked at the ADMT Computer Corporation and Mick and me decided to have a word with him. Mick didn't care if Franklin chewed him out, and I just had a feeling in my gut we were onto something. I hadn't heard anything from Fraser about the bomb but if the guy worked with electronics, he could make a bomb, right?

He was an insignificant man, resentful of everyone and everything and totally fixated on his wife. He said Stella had tried to break them up, but when I asked if he hated Stella enough to kill her, he denied it, then told us to go. We had to - there wasn't enough evidence to charge him, or even make him a strong suspect - but alarm bells were going off big time for me. Mick said he'd run a computer check on him when I dropped him back at our precinct. I drove over to the 2-7 where Fraser was waiting for me.

"So what did you find out?"

He tossed his hat onto the dashboard. He wasn't in his uniform and for Fraser, he almost looked casual, and a little tired. "Well, you were correct. The Manor point project appears to be corrupt and the late alderman was deeply involved in it. Detective Huey discovered the identity of the gun man - he was in Orsini's employment. It was a publicity stunt."

"And the bomb?"

"Ah, yes, now that is interesting. The device contained a circuit board, with the insignia of the ADMT Computer Corporation. We're checking it now."

Those alarm bells made sense now. "Fraser - Dwayne Weston works for ADMT. Stella was prosecuting him for spousal abuse."

He stared at me. "How ...?" My cell phone interrupted him.

"Kowalski."

"Detective, it's Diane Weston. We spoke this afternoon." She sounded tense, frightened.

"Yeah. You got something for me?"

"I'd like to speak to you again. Here, at my house. Can you come now?"

"Sure. I'll be there in ten." I hung up. "Diane Weston has some information for me."

"Ray, we should call Ray Vecchio. You know you shouldn't be investigating this."

"Fraser, she called me. She doesn't know Vecchio, and she sounds frightened. I don't want him going in there and intimidating her. We call him the minute we're done, OK?"

He wasn't happy. I called Mick and told him what we were doing - he said that Weston had a record a few years ago for threatening a former girlfriend, but nothing else. I told him I'd call him when we were through talking to Mrs. Weston. "You want me to meet you there again?" he asked.

"Nah, go on home. Fraser's with me. You just be ready to fight Franklin with me tomorrow."

"Anything you say, Ray."

I hung up and pulled up into Diane Weston's drive. I couldn't see anyone peering out the windows. "Fraser, you wait here."

"No, Ray - for your own protection, you need a witness." He had a mulish set to his jaw and I couldn't be bothered arguing with him so I agreed.

I made Dief stay in the car - I didn't want her freaking out about a wolf turning up at her house. I knocked at the front door, which opened under my hand. Fraser frowned, and I signaled at him to go around the back. Something was wrong. I called Dispatch quietly and said I needed assistance, then I pushed the door open and walked in, gun drawn. Diane Weston was in her living room. So was her husband. She was tied to a chair and he was holding what looked like a detonator to the bomb she had hanging around her neck.

"Where's the other one? There were two of you!" he yelled.

"He's not coming, Weston. They know about the other bomb. You can't get away with this, so put that down."

"No," he said and pressed a button. Immediately the thing on his wife's chest started to beep with a minute countdown.

"You idiot! Stop it - you'll die too!" I shouted at him.

He gave me an insane smile. "So will you, just like your interfering wife. You didn't think I'd work that out but Diane told me."

"Weston, you're going to kill her too." 45 seconds.

"We're all going to die, Mr. Kowalski. But at least this way, I'll be with her the rest of eternity. Won't that be nice, Diane?"

She cried and screamed, which distracted him enough that Fraser, coming through the back door, could grab him and pull him down. "The bomb," she whispered, terrified. Fifteen seconds.

I snagged it from around her neck, lifted it over her head. "The front way," Fraser yelled, still struggling with Weston. I dashed out the front door. Seven seconds. Children on the street. Shit. Cars. People. I threw it into the air, but I left it too late. It was the last thing I remember.

 

* * *

They told me afterwards that the force of the explosion threw me to the pavement so hard I fractured my skull and broke my shoulder blade. No one else was hurt, although the little kids on the bikes I was trying to avoid got the fright of their lives. I didn't remember any of this, although they said I was actually conscious for several minutes before I passed out and fell into a coma for ten days. Gave me up for dead twice, they told me. First thing I knew about it was waking up three weeks later with a tube up my nose, a killer headache and blurry vision. Someone was there - Fraser. I tried to speak, but I could only cough. "Ray," he smiled at me. "You're awake again." Again? He held up a cup of water with a straw to let me drink. I sipped a little, but then felt nauseous. "Take it easy. I'll get the doctor."

I tried to speak again, but my voice was so croaky I couldn't understand myself. He got it though. "How long? Three weeks."

"Wha' happened?"

"The bomb detonated in mid-air, Ray. You were caught in the force of the explosion."

God, my head hurt, but I had to know. "Weshton?" This was more than a dry throat - I couldn't speak properly. My tongue felt funny.

"He's been charged with Stella's murder, Ray. And Orsini's. And the attempted murder of his wife, and of you."

I nodded. Good. Why couldn't I see? I needed my glasses. Someone else was in the room now. "Ah, Mr. Kowalski. Nice to see you awake again. Do you remember being awake before?" And who the hell are you, I wanted to ask. I shook my head. "Oh, well, never mind. I'm Doctor Paris, your neurologist. I'd just like to run a few simple tests. Do you know your name? Your date of birth? And what year is it? Now, look straight ahead - how many fingers? Ah. Can you feel this?"

This was one annoying doctor. I could tell he wasn't too happy with the test results. "Doc - can' shpeak."

"It seems there is some neurological damage, as we feared. You appear to have some residual motor problems, and your vision is affected by the lack of fine muscle control. As for your speech, I need to have that assessed. It may be temporary - you were unconscious for a long time."

"Get be' 'er?"

"Possibly. Very likely. Some of it, certainly. But I think for now you should rest. With any luck, you can be released in a few days, if there are no more problems. Do you have any other questions?"

I did, but the hassle of coming out with them was too much, so I shook my head. "Right. Mr. Fraser, are you staying here with him? You let me know if there is any change, all right?" I heard him leave the room, and Fraser took his place.

"Fras'?"

"I'm here, Ray. What do you want?"

"Tell me ... ev'thing." I reached out my hand - God, I wished I could see his face clearly.

He held my hand and explained how Weston used a circuit board from a prototype computer to make the bomb which killed Stella and Orsini. He spilled his guts, made a full confession. His wife was okay, just shook up. Stella's parents knew I didn't kill their daughter. "Fun'ral?"

"It was held two weeks ago, Ray. I went as your representative, I hope you don't mind."

I squeezed his hand. "Than's."

"You're welcome. Anyway, it's all out in the open - even the property fraud that Orsini was involved in. Your name is cleared completely."

I didn't care. I'd give anything to have Stella back with me. "Wan' go home." Hell - it was like talking with amouth full of Novacaine.

"Soon, Ray. They just need to assess any brain damage and what therapy you might need and then I'll take you home and look after you."

I shook my head. "Too much."

"Nonsense, Ray. You aren't completely disabled, and you heard the doctor - they expect many of the symptoms to resolve. From what they told me, it's rather as if you've had a stroke, and many stroke victims recover completely."

He was being cheerful. I hated that. "Trut'?"

"It is the truth, I promise. But you mustn't worry. Concentrate on getting out and getting well."

I must have gone too quiet for him for too long. "Ray, is something wrong?"

"Miss Stell'."

He patted my hand. "I know," he said gently. "It gets better. I promise you it will." After a while he dabbed the tears off my face, and then he held my hand until I fell asleep again.

That week was frustrating. The brain damage was affecting the control of the right side of my body, including the muscles which helped me focus my eyes, and my tongue and my jaw. There was nothing wrong with my language center, they said - it was purely a matter of regaining control over the things I used to make sound with. It was going to take a lot of therapy to overcome the damage, and even then, they thought I would always walk with a limp and have a slightly weak right arm and hand. Translation - no more cop work for Kowalski, although no one would come right out and say it. Mick came to visit, so did Sam Franklin and they acted like it was just a matter of time. Fraser was more honest but he wouldn't let me talk about what I would do if I couldn't work any more. He said I had more immediate problems I should concentrate on. It was going to be at least three months before I could even think about coming back to work.

It was more than a nuisance that my broken shoulder was on the opposite side of the brain damage affected part. Until it healed, I was going to need a lot of help at home. Fraser just calmly announced he was taking a month long leave of absence to look after me, and wouldn't hear of any alternative. To be honest, I was relieved, if guilty - I didn't want to rely on a home help, even if relying on Fraser was a little embarrassing. My mom offered to come down from Arizona but I wouldn't let her - I couldn't put that on her, and Dad wouldn't come so she'd be on her own. No, Fraser was all I needed. It was so ironic - I had plenty of money to cover our expenses, thanks to Stella.

I got released a week after I woke up finally, but I would have to come to physical therapy every couple of days, and do exercises at home with Fraser's help. I still couldn't speak clearly, although with my glasses, I could see well enough to get by. I felt like a freak. When I first got home, I wouldn't leave the apartment except to go therapy. I was afraid of running into someone I knew and disgusting them. Fraser was patient and didn't push me. I had to rely on him for pretty much everything, which meant I had to be pretty comfortable being naked around him. For someone who'd blush if you said an off color word, he took it in his stride, handling me like he was born to nurse. He was a mean task master - he wouldn't let me slack off on the exercises for a single day, and if I swore at him because it hurt and I was tired, he would simply comment on how well I was or wasn't pronouncing things.

He finally managed to coax me out for a walk in our park a month after I got home. I still had a horrible limp, but it was a little better than it was. I could talk better too, just sounding like I'd been to the dentist instead of being drunk as a skunk. The summer was over, and the trees were changing color. "Stella's favorite time," I told Fraser as we walked slowly with Dief at our side.

"Yes, I have to admit to a fondness for the cooler weather myself," he said wistfully.

"Homesick?"

"A little. Not as much as I was, thanks to you."

"Me?" I squeaked. What the hell did I have to do with it?

"You gave me a home, Ray. I never had one before in Chicago - just somewhere to live. And you gave me your friendship and your trust."

"Vecchio?"

"Ah, well, yes, I'm not negating Ray's importance. I need all my friends." He didn't say the rest but I knew it. Vecchio didn't need him like I did. I was a little resentful that I _did_ need Fraser so much, but then, at least he was there to be needed. And he was reliable and as good a friend as a man could want. But I wasn't happy. How could I be? I was looking at permanent disability, and Stella's death was like an open wound. Despite what Fraser said, it wasn't getting better. We didn't talk about it much. I knew he knew what losing someone close to you was like - but somehow, losing your Dad and losing your wife were different things, to me at least.

Fraser went back to work when his leave of absence expired. I could manage just fine now at home, and was taking regular walks on my own in the park, with Dief to keep an eye on me. I was still making some headway - the speech was the most improved - but I could tell that I was reaching the point where I wasn't going to get a whole lot better. I didn't say anything to Fraser but I went to see my boss and told him I wanted to go for retirement on grounds of permanent injury. Sam tried to talk me out of it, but we both knew I wasn't cut out for paperwork. Mick had already partnered up with someone else, and besides, I was kind of soured on the whole cop thing. I hated what happened to me over Stella, and I couldn't really look at things the same way again. Childish, yeah, I know, but that's the way it was.

I got back into the habit of cooking - it gave me something to do and a reason to go out, looking for ingredients. Fraser appreciated coming home to a meal - we got into a routine of dinner, then my exercises, then watching TV until I dozed off and Fraser nudged me to go to bed. A couple of weeks after Fraser went back to work, he came home with a visitor - Vecchio. I didn't say anything out of respect for Fraser's feelings, but I gave him a dirty look behind Vecchio's back. It was me Vecchio wanted to see.

He looked embarrassed. "How are you doing, Kowalski?"

"Terrific, Vecchio. Not bad for, what was it, a 'sad pathetic failure'?"

He winced. "That's what I came to see you about. I wanted to apologize."

"No need, Vecchio. Like you said, you were just doing your job." Fraser was keeping out of this, playing nervously with his Stetson.

"Look - I wanted to explain why I was so hard on you ..."

My temper flared right up. "No. I don't want to hear it, understand? You fucked up, you went after the wrong person, and I nearly got killed because you were too fucking one eyed to look at all the possibilities. So you can take your guilt trip and your apology and shove it up your ass, Vecchio, and while you're at it, get the hell out of my home."

Fraser looked stunned, Vecchio looked pissed. "I told you so," he said to the Mountie.

"Ray, you aren't being fair ...," Fraser tried to explain.

"Fair? What's fair? A beautiful woman that I loved being blown up so bad they had to have a closed coffin at the funeral and they still aren't sure they buried the whole body? Is fair me being crippled? Is fair Diane Weston having a nervous breakdown because of her psycho husband? Give me a break, Fraser. Go tell it to someone who gives a shit."

I glared at the two of them until Vecchio gave in and left without another word. Fraser walked him downstairs. I stirred my stew angrily, mad for losing my cool, mad for Vecchio looking for absolution from me, mad at Fraser for interfering. Mad at there being a reason to be mad.

Fraser came back in ten minutes or so and went to his room to change without speaking to me. I dished up supper and didn't wait for him before starting my own meal, eating on the sofa. He came out and started to eat, sitting at the table. "This is good," he said.

I just grunted. Of course it was good. All I had to do all day was cook, or think about cooking. I finished my bowl and Fraser took it away ."Thanks," I muttered. He took the dirty dishes to the sink and then came and sat next to me.

"Ray - all Ray Vecchio wanted to explain was that he has a particular sensitivity to men who hurt their wives. His sister was in an abusive relationship, and his father beat his mother. He really does feel bad about how he broke the news of Stella's death, and how he spoke to you afterwards."

"So? He fucked up."

"No. You aren't being fair. He was hard on you, and he wanted to apologize, but you were a legitimate suspect. You only have yourself to blame for that. We were only a couple of hours behind you in working out that Dwayne Weston was the murderer, and I have to point out that if you and Mick had not visited him earlier, it's possible he might not have been pushed to attempting to kill his wife."

"So you're saying it's all my fault?"

"I'm saying that blaming Ray Vecchio for your own mistakes helps no one. You also behaved with great valor that day and saved innocent lives, and for that I am very proud of you."

I didn't know whether to be pissed at him or not, but the fact was - he was right. I knew it, he knew it. "I suck," I muttered.

"No, you don't. You're a fine man, a fine officer. But so is Ray Vecchio. Ray - he needs your forgiveness. He's been angry with himself for weeks and I only convinced him today that he needed to speak to you. And then look what you did."

I thought about it. "I'm just mad at everyone, Fraser. Even you sometimes. Just because you can walk properly and I can't."

He smiled. "I understand. I went through the same thing myself. Ray Vecchio was there for me then."

"What should I do?"

"Call him? Let him apologize. Let him say what he needs to say. You don't need to be friends."

"OK. You call him, pass the phone over."

We didn't talk long. I told him I was sorry for being an asshole and he said he apologized for how he'd told me Stella had died. He said that after I got hurt, he kept seeing the look on my face when he told me, and he knew then he should have realized I was innocent. I told him that a good cop didn't go by looks, and he laughed. Fraser smiled at me when I got off the phone, and I felt a little better. Life still sucked but at least one small bit of misery had gone out of it.

Three months on, and the disability board accepted my application for retirement. I hadn't told Fraser. I knew he was going to be mad at me over what I was planning, and I didn't want him to stop me. The therapy was finished so far as the hospital was concerned - I knew all the exercises I had to keep doing, and they said I could expect a little more improvement over time. I bought a fancy cane and learned to live with the limp, handed back my badge and my gun and became a private citizen again. I invited Fraser to dinner at a fancy restaurant to break the bad news. I almost invited Vecchio so he could hold Fraser's hand, but I couldn't face that.

We finished our dessert. "So, what was this in honor of, Ray?" he asked after we ordered coffee.

"Fraser, I've got things to tell you and I want you to shut up and just let me say 'em. OK?"

"All right, Ray." He waited.

"First of all - I'm retired. The news came through last week. I'm not a cop any more."

He started to speak, but I put my hand up. "Uh uh. Wait. Second. I've paid a year's rent on the apartment. After that, you can go, or take it on in your own name. And third. I'm leaving town next week."

He sat stunned, his mouth hanging open. "Why?" he finally said.

"Because I can. And because I have to. I got nothing here any more, Fraser. I want to travel, think. Get over Stella. Get used to being a gimp."

He looked at me for a long while, and I could see him thinking about arguing with me, and then rejecting the idea. "I'll miss you," he said.

"Me too, buddy. Look - it's not forever. Keep the apartment going, look after the turtle. I'll be in touch."

He nodded. "What will you do?"

"Dunno. That's what I need time to think about."

He accepted it. All of it. The only things he asked about were practical things about mail and stuff. I told him to take over my bedroom - it seemed a shame to waste it when I knew I wouldn't be back for a long time. I bought a new car which could handle heavy mileage and my weak arm and leg, and packed a practical set of bags. I could sleep in the car if I needed to. I joked about becoming a PI and getting a RV like Jim Rockford, but Fraser didn't get the reference. Finally, the day came when I was due to head out. I thought I see my brother, maybe patch things up with my Dad. Fraser came down to see me off. I put out my hand. "This is it, Fraser."

"Have a good trip, Ray." I got in the car. "Ray - one thing. I want you to know, I'll always consider you my friend. I'm proud to do so, and if you ever need me, you call."

That meant more to me than I dared let on. "Will do. See you round." Dief gave me a last bark, Fraser waved, and then I drove off in search of a new life. I hoped they'd be still around when I found one.


End file.
